t was cold and I grew tired. I came back to sleep. 'Gone, she
is gone,' I whispered to myself. The room appeared empty. I was
cautious, knowing the ruses of this thing in my mind. For my madness and
I are no longer friends. My madness hides for me and plays tricks.

"But she returned. I smiled at her. It is folly to grow angry with one's
own hallucinations. That would be a double madness. As she stood before
me, my treacherous senses leaped to their sterile feast. And I smiled.

"'My egoism has betrayed me,' I reasoned. 'The love that gleams from the
eyes of this hallucination is the invention of my egoism. Alas, I love
myself too much, for the passion for Mallare with which my madness
endows this illusion of a woman, threatens me. My senses have already
abandoned me. They no longer obey the direction of my will. And I must
stand like a scold, laughing and sneering at them as they yield
themselves to her. She is more powerful, therefore, than I, even though
her existence is no more than a shadow cast in front of my eyes.'

"I reasoned in this fashion and continued to smile. It would be best,
perhaps, to humor her. Who knows but even hallucinations are subject to
wiles and coquetry. A disturbing fancy, this--one of the distortions
that insist upon raising their mocking heads from the midst of my
cautious sentences.

"She came and knelt beside me and I shook my head at her. She was
dressed in a gown I had never seen before. It was red. I spoke aloud and
said--

"'See, how abominably clever I am. My madness is a jack of all trades.
It makes new dresses for its phantoms. It arranges their coiffures. It
even puts rouge on their cheeks.'

"But as I talked her hands reached out to me. To look into her eyes that
are always alive with flames is to succumb. For then I find myself
dreaming my dream is not a dream. My senses clamor that I join them.

"'Forget. Forget,' they whisper, 'come with us.'

"But I chose to persist. I remain. To sit in an empty whorehouse and
masturbate.... No! If this hallucination grows powerful enough to trick
my senses into clownish fornications, let my madness enjoy them. Not I.
We are no longer friends, my madness and I.

"She pressed her cheek against my leg. I could feel her body trembling.

"I remained motionless and spoke to her. 'Each night you grow bolder,' I
said. I am no different from other Gods in that I seem to have endowed
you with the instinct of profanation. But at least Eve di